Mix-Up
by wixley-kryptonese
Summary: 177. I took the coffee that they handed me in Starbucks and it's totally not mine and I am now on a mission to track down the owner of my coffee AU - ft. Wanda Maximoff and a sleep-deprived Clint Barton.
177\. I took the coffee that they handed me in Starbucks and it's totally not mine and I am now on a mission to track down the owner of my coffee AU – _ft. Wanda Maximoff and Clint Barton_

* * *

"Purple Witch!"

Wanda's face twisted at the name, but went across to pick up her latte. _Scarlet, it's Scarlet Witch_. But she took the latte with grace, giving a polite smile to the server, turning and sipping her latte- only to screw up her face in revulsion as she found it was the blackest of coffees she had _ever_ tasted. Forcing herself not to wretch, Wanda looked at the side of the cup. It was medium, like she asked, but rather than a caramel and whipped-cream latte, it was, as she suspected, a black coffee, sans any sugar, milk or condiment.

"This is not mine," she decided, before looking around the bustling Starbucks, through the crowd of stationary civilians, frantic assistants, and oblivious teens, trying to find anyone that would have identified as 'purple witch'. It had been her mistake to pick up their coffee – she'd pick up her own latte from them, hopefully. Then she heard another call from the counter – _"Scarlet Bitch!_ " Her mouth dropped open, before she tried to pinpoint who was picking it up, but someone moved in front of her and she obviously missed it, because the server who'd called it out was now calling out another name – some doctor by the name of Strange.

"Hey, Wanda," came a voice. Wanda turned, only to find Clint holding his own Starbucks, "How you doing?"

Wanda grimaced, holding up her coffee, "I am in possession of somebody else's coffee. It's absolute tar."

"I love tar coffee – don't hate on tar coffee," he lectured, before sipping his own beverage, blinking, before glancing down. "Shit. That's a crap-load of sugar. I must have ordered Natasha's by mistake." Then he went back to drinking it, as if nothing was wrong. "Let's find your coffee – have you used your mind powers yet?"

"No, I do not use them for this kind of thing," Wanda looked over to the doors, where the owner of the coffee in her hand had undoubtedly already walked off with her coffee. Sighing, she glanced down, "I had better just order another for myself, the way I like it."

"Not here," Clint interjected, "Obviously, I'm a bit sleep-deprived, cause now I recognise this joint – they're always mixing up coffees and names and shit. The one I usually go to is just down the street – drop the tar coffee in a trash-can on the way."

But Wanda shook her head. "No. The owner of my coffee will realise what they have soon, and either return-"

"Or get a new coffee," Clint interrupted, holding up his own. "Not everyone is like me. We'll have a better chance of catching them choking on their not-tar coffee outside than we do in here. C'mon." He took her free hand, tugging her towards the exit, through the hoard of people and out onto the street outside. "Left- no, right- no! Left. Right." Clint tugged her to the right, causing her to stumble slightly, the coffee coming up to spill through the mouth of the lid. She stabilised it quickly, but a line was already running down the side.

"Oh no," she muttered, biting her lip as it trailed down towards her bare hand. _That is going to be hot…_ Her face screwed up as it touched her skin, pooling before spreading through her skin. "Ow."

"Ow?" Clint blinked, looking at her hand. "Oh. Ow. Here-" he let go of her hand, putting his coffee in it before taking the tar coffee from her, giving her a chance to wipe it on her shirt. Then she noticed the order on Clint's cup.

"This is my latte." She blinked, twisting it so she could see the order. _Latte, caramel, whipped cream_. She looked to the coffee in Clint's hand. "Is that _your_ coffee?" She questioned, before turning the cup in her hand, nose wrinkling at the sight of _Scarlet Bitch_ in chicken-scratch sharpie.

Clint blinked again, behaving true to his claim of sleep-deprivation, before drinking the tar coffee, staring at her before nodding, sipping it again. Wanda felt a sense of relief – both for returning his coffee and for finding her own – and a little guilt for getting his order in the first place, but pushed it away as she sipped her latte, feeling sated as the sweetness hit her tongue.

"So you've drunk Natasha's coffee before, then?"


End file.
